by Claire Adams
My headache started to wear off, but I still felt aches all over, and my stomach told me in no uncertain terms that if I put anything else into it before the Gatorade was fully in my system, it would punish me. I took a deep breath and told myself that a shower would make it at least a little better. I managed to grab my towel and robe and staggered out of my room; the walls swooped and twisted around me, the floor seemed to be tilted. Somehow, I got into the bathroom and threw my things onto the countertop before I lurched into the shower and sat down on the bench Jess had bought the second week into term. I turned the water on; it was ice-cold and I yelped in shock as it hit my hot skin. Definitely not a great way to improve things.
It began to heat up and I sat underneath the flow, letting it soak me from head to toe. I wondered as my brain started to regain normal functioning if I had remembered to take my makeup off when Jess and I had gotten in; it didn’t seem that important. I stayed on the bench while I scrubbed, washing from head to toe. I still didn’t feel fully human, but by the time I finally turned the water off, I thought I could at least manage to stay upright, and maybe even eat something. I dried myself off and wrapped the robe around myself and padded into the common area, keeping the towel over my head as I sank down onto the couch and grabbed a box of cheese crackers that was on the coffee table—anything in the common area was free game. They were a little stale, but they tasted good; I thought longingly of a nice, big cup of coffee.
Jess bounded out of her room with a smile on her face, throwing herself on the couch next to me. “You should not even be this chipper,” I said. My head still ached—not as much as before, but a dull throbbing at my temples and behind my eyes that the aspirin didn’t seem to touch.
“Ah, hungover are we?” I frowned at Jess and she laughed. “You should have gotten the cure from me before you went to bed.”
I rolled my eyes in spite of the fact that it sent a cold jolt of pain through my skull.
“What’s the cure?”
Jess leaned against me. She was in pajamas, and she had somehow managed to take a shower either right when we’d gotten back, or earlier in the morning than I had.
“Oh, you drink a whole bottle of water and eat a big bowl of ramen before you go to bed. Works every time.”
I shuddered. “I can’t even imagine how that would even do anything about the fact that I feel like someone tried to poison me.”
Jess rumpled my hair with the towel. “We’ll go down to the dining hall and get some pancakes in you and you’ll be good as new.”
On the weekends, the dining hall did brunch through the early afternoon, with pancakes and make-your-own waffles. I’d gone a few times even though I hadn’t been out late the night before, just to keep Jess company and because there were some lunch items I liked.
“These crackers are doing me just fine for right now. But you’re kind of a bitch for insisting I have that last drink—just so you know.”
Jess laughed. “You didn’t have to; you could have totally faked that shit. I was pretty drunk myself.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t worth fighting over then. It is now, though.”
Jess got up and went into her room, coming back with a can of coffee—barely chilled. She put it in my hands and I cracked it; it wasn’t as good as a hot coffee, but it would do the job.
“So tell me about that guy you were talking to last night,” she said, her bright blue eyes dancing.
I shrugged, feeling my face burn. “Eh. He’s not important.”
Jess raised her eyebrows. “Oh come on, you wouldn’t have talked to him if he wasn’t important. I saw him make a beeline to you. You know each other, don’t you?”
I shrugged again, not wanting to admit how turned on—and then how turned off—I had been the night before, all because of Zack.
“Well, he’s… it’s not important, but he and I dated for a couple of years in high school. We broke up when he started college; he’s a couple of years ahead of me.”
Jess’s eyes widened. “Oooh, tell me more!”
I rolled my eyes. The coffee and the cheese crackers were starting to help.
“Not much to tell, really. He saw me, we talked a bit…we danced, we kissed, and that was it.”
Jess looked at me for a long moment, shaking her head. “It’s like every hot guy in the world is totally wasted on you. He’s totally fuckable—why didn’t you stay the night?”
I shook my head at her. “Someone came up and said I was his piece of ass for the night and just…ugh.”
Jess made a face, her lips twisting in a grimace. “Yeah, I can see where that would put you off, especially if you have history with him.” She shrugged. “So tell me about him! Come on, if you dated for two years, it had to have been good.”
I thought about it—about the dates Zack and I had gone on, about the little presents he had given me, about watching him play.
I thought to myself that it wasn’t like Jess would run around telling everyone, so I told her about Zack asking me out in my freshman year, and how he’d been with me when my mom started to get sick. I told her about the stupid little things—the dates, being some kind of hot commodity because I was dating an upperclassman.
“But what was the sex like? I know you aren’t a virgin.”
I blushed. She was right—I had lost my virginity in sophomore year.
“Eh…it wasn’t really anything special. I mean, I think—I’m not sure—but I don’t think I was his first. But he was mine. It was just sort of…sex, you know? I just kind of laid there. The first time I guess it was hot just because, you know, it was the first time. But we only did it a couple of times after that and it didn’t ever really get to be good, exactly. Certainly no screaming orgasms.”
“That’s a damn shame. I would think a guy like that at least would have a nice-sized dick to get things done with.”
I thought about it; it occurred to me that I didn’t really have any way to gauge how big Zack was. I had been with one other guy since him, and while the sex had been better, I hadn’t really paid attention to size.
“I guess he was average? I wasn’t really paying attention to that so much.”
Jess nodded slowly.
“Oh man! I have to tell you about my night.”
I grinned. “Okay, so what was up with the guy you were with?”
I knew that it would be more than I wanted to know—Jess always told more than I wanted to know—but I also knew that Jess would be hurt if I didn’t pretend to be at least a little curious about her night.
“He was hot, right?” Jess raised her eyebrows at me and I nodded; the guy had been good-looking, though since he was tall and skinny he wasn’t really my type. “His name is Nelson. Hoo buddy, he was a good time. I might see him again.”
“So you two were just cuddling on the couch and making out?” That didn’t seem like Jess’s usual MO.
Jess laughed out loud. “Nah, we were in the bathroom before you caught up to me. Nelson’s room was too far away. We danced for a while and then we had a quickie there—he wanted me to stay the night, but I know better.”
It was the second time in two months Jess had mentioned a quickie like that. I didn’t think any the worse of her for it, but I could never have a one-night stand like that.
“Oh man, you should’ve seen his cock, Evie—I don’t know if it’s true of all black guys, but Nelson was definitely packing. Totally lived up to stereotype.” I rolled my eyes. “I swear to god it was like a baseball bat in his pants. It was good though—right up against the sink.”
Jess went on about Nelson for a while and I only partially paid attention, enough for her to think I was listening to every word. He was apparently on a basketball scholarship, top pick for the pros in a year or two. He’d been the top college pick out of high school and the frat had barely even made him work to be a pledge—they’d let him in right away. He definitely fit into the bad boy image that Phi Alpha Kappa had; Jess told me that she’d almost want to d
ate him, if it weren’t for the fact that he was a total hound.
“Man, as good as that quickie was, I wouldn’t mind bringing him back here for the night. But he’s definitely not relationship material. He’d be chasing the next skirt the minute I turned my back.”
I nodded. In spite of the fact that I’d told myself I wouldn’t even think about Zack again, he rose up in my mind, along with the “piece of ass” comment his frat brother had made. When we’d been dating, Zack had been faithful; but it was easy to imagine he’d turned into the kind of guy who just slept with a girl and evicted her from his bed the next morning without batting an eyelash.
I didn’t like to think about Zack being that way. It was his right to sleep around as much as he wanted; I had no hold on him. We’d been broken up for over a year. But it still turned my stomach to think about Zack sleeping around without being attached to anyone. I wondered while I dried my hair if it would make me feel worse to know that Zack was sleeping around or to know that he had started up a new relationship. It wasn’t important, I told myself firmly. I shouldn’t feel bad either way. If Zack had a new girlfriend, that was his business. I wondered how he would react if I had a new boyfriend; but then I took a deep breath and told myself that that didn’t matter either. We were two separate people who happened to run into each other, and because of alcohol and old feelings, we’d ended up making out a little. It was no big deal. I wouldn’t think about it again.
CHAPTER THREE
My journalism class was wrapping up for the day; everyone else was looking at the clock or the door, putting their stuff away even though there was another ten minutes and even though Professor Grant wasn’t done saying the last few things about our reading on style.
“Remember, everyone: it’s important to cultivate your own journalistic voice, but you also have to be mindful of the rules of style—the basic elements that every publication looks for—and the specific style rules that your publication demands.”
I took another look at the diagram on the overhead—it compared AP style to Chicago style. Grant had had us all read Politics and the English Language, along with part of Elements of Style for the class; I’d liked both—especially the bitter, harsh humor in “Politics.” I was really starting to enjoy the course, an introduction to journalism.
The end of class arrived and I joined in with everyone else loading my stuff into my bag, ready to go. I was taking a pretty full course load, but I had a couple of hours free before my next class.
“Evelyn, do you have a minute to talk?” Grant called out as the other students started to file out.
I shrugged. “Yeah, sure, Professor Grant,” I replied, calling out over the murmurs and screech of desks against the linoleum floor. I sat back down, settling my books, my laptop, and my pens in my bag while everyone left.
Professor Grant was gathering up his stuff, and as the last of the other students left the room I got up and approached the front of the room, stopping short of the desk.
“You wanted to talk to me, Professor Grant?” I said, feeling anxious in spite of myself. I knew I was making decent grades in the class.
“Absolutely, Evelyn,” Grant said, looking up from his laptop bag with a grin.
He was in his forties, starting to go gray but with all of his hair still there. Lots of girls at the college had crushes on Grant, I knew; everyone vied to have him as their advisor and I’d seen plenty of my classmates giggling as they left his office during office hours. I could see why they liked him—he was nice, and he looked good—but I wasn’t into older guys.
“Take a chair.”
I shrugged and sat down. It wasn’t likely that Grant was going to chew me out—or at least, I hoped it wasn’t likely.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying to keep my nerves from showing. Grant leaned against the desk.
“I wanted to talk to you because I’ve been reading your papers for these past eight weeks and they’re… well, frankly, they’re well above the level you’d need to do well in this class.” I smiled, relieved; even though I knew I had done well, it was good to hear it. “If I graded on a curve, the entire class would hate you.”
“Oh come on,” I said, laughing. “I’m not that good.”
Grant nodded his head slowly. “You are. In fact, you’re so good that I wanted to ask you to consider joining the college newspaper. There’d be a little pay for it—not a lot, but enough to finance the occasional food run—and it would be a good early experience for you.”
My eyes widened at the offer. Grant wasn’t just a professor—he was the Journalism Department head and the faculty member in charge of the campus paper. I hadn’t even been aware that there were any openings.
“There’s an opening?”
Grant nodded. “We can always use news and features material. It would be a staff reporting position—nothing too major, but a way to get your feet wet. Your first few assignments would come from the editorial board, but once we know you can cut it on your own, you’ll be covering your own beat—whatever you want to write about, with editorial discretion.”
It was as good an offer as I could ever get. It wasn’t professional publishing, but if I did good work, I could eventually expect a column, maybe an editorial position to pad my resume with.
But on the other hand, a gig like that—even part time as it was—would take away from my studying. Not all of my classes were as interesting or easy as Intro to Journalism. I was hanging on to a steady high B average in Statistics—but I could slip on that easily. Math had never been my strongest subject. It was a tough choice, because as much as it could advance my career in the future, it could also screw me up—which wouldn’t look good on a resume.
“That’s… I can’t even believe it,” I said, smiling—knowing that Grant expected me to say something. “It’s a pretty big time commitment, isn’t it?”
“At first it shouldn’t take you more than a handful of hours a week. Of course, as time goes on and you prove yourself, that will change. But for right now, consider it maybe five or six hours out of your week, for research and writing.”
I thought about it. The opportunity the offer represented was a lot greater than the risk of losing a few hours per week studying.
“I’d love to,” I said, smiling at Professor Grant. He returned my grin.
“Excellent. The next meeting is in a week,” he told me. “I will add you to the email group list in the meantime, and I’ll send you log-in information for the Blackboard sub-site we use.”
I picked up my bag—now that I had made the decision, I was excited more than I was afraid. I couldn’t wait to get started. First, I had a study session in the library before my next class.
I was thinking about the opportunity, considering buying back-editions of the campus paper to get a feel for the voice—something that Grant had mentioned in passing when he did the first lecture on voice and style—while I walked to the library. All of my homework was done for my next class, but I was still struggling with a couple of things in American History and I wanted to put in an hour or so. I had reserved one of the rooms; really, for the purposes of seriously studying, it was either that or my dorm. The main part of the library was always full of people working on papers or getting tutoring—it was loud, impossible to focus.
I looked up and saw Zack walking into the library a few yards ahead of me and stopped dead in my tracks. It wasn’t so much seeing Zack—though that was plenty strange, to see him twice when I hadn’t caught sight of him at all in my first eight weeks at the college—it was seeing him going into the library that was weird. Zack had always been fairly smart, but he’d barely kept up a high C-average in high school, getting extensions on projects and assignments and taking the test under special circumstances because he was a member of the football team. The idea of him going to the library—studying, or even taking an interest in any of his classes enough to look things up for it—was beyond weird. It was like walking in on your parents having an orgy; not the
kind of thing you would ever expect to see, and too shocking to actually process for a moment.
For a moment my plans weren’t changed at all; Zack was probably meeting with a tutor or something. The private study rooms were in a completely different part of the library. But I would have to go through the main areas to get upstairs to the private rooms, and there was the possibility that Zack would spot me. If he spotted me, he might talk to me. I shook my head. I shouldn’t let him break my routine; we were nothing to each other, even if he had kissed me—even if he had said he missed me. He certainly hadn’t missed me enough to put much effort into finding me at the party. I was surprised that had apparently bothered me. It shouldn’t have, and I knew it shouldn’t have. But all the same, I didn’t want to risk running into Zack. Instead of walking to the library, I turned at the fork in the sidewalk and headed back towards the dorms.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Evie, come on,” Jess said at my door, a slight whining edge to her voice. “I need a partner in crime! I need someone to talk to during the game!”
I sighed, rubbing at my face with my hands. I had managed to get my studying done, and technically I didn’t have anything left to do for the evening.
“I don’t care about the game; I don’t care about football.”
Jess rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to care about it. It’s an excuse to hang out and watch hot guys throw themselves at each other and to talk to other hot guys who are all excited by it.”
I laughed. “Put that way it sounds like we’re going to watch a gay orgy and talk to other gay guys.”
“Well, think about it however you want. But I need you to come with me.”
I tilted my head back against the footboard of my bed. “What do I get out of this?”
Jess looked at me shrewdly for a moment. “I’ll get someone to buy you a beer and I’ll help you study for the Stats midterm.”